Let’s outlaw common courtesy…

I realize that may throw a few of you off.  Let me splain, Lucy.

Before I do, it’s my intention to keep the Sunday blog a little lighter.  People are generally off from work and just want to relax.  They don’t want to deal with any heavy issues like my mom’s hair problems, post-chemotherapy.

This morning I went to our local Wawa, as I do just about every morning, to pick up coffee for my wife and a few newspapers.  You would think that task, at 7:00 on a Sunday morning, would pretty much take place without incident.  Think again.  Remember, by reading this blog you’ve chosen to enter the daily world of Mike Duffy.

This particular Wawa parking lot has about 20 marked parking spaces.  And on average, at any given time, there are about 25 to 30 vehicles travelling within the confines of the parking lot.  It’s like playing a daily game of musical parking spaces.  And not everyone plays by the rules.  It looks the same as when I’m trying to squeeze into my thermals in winter and I look at myself in the mirror from the waist down.  The only image I can conjure up is that of Willie, the butcher from our local meat market when I was a kid, trying to shove two pounds of baloney into a one pound bag.  Not good, Norman.

There’s Mr. Yukon, who believes that because he’s driving a house he has the right to take up two spaces.  There’s Mr. BMW, who’s driving with the top down in March, trying his best to back into a space instead of pulling in front first.  And there’s Mrs. Mercedes, back in her car from the store but waiting 12 minutes to pull out while she adjusts her mirrors, fixes her hair and resets her Sirius XM station to Tony Bennett, all while three cars are all signalling to pull into her soon to be vacated space.

Eventually, I clear the first hurdle of actually getting into a parking space.  I have to endure the looks of those around me who don’t particularly like my choice of bumper stickers (which at that moment have already paid for themselves, thank you).

Now we approach today’s issue at hand.  The holding of the door.  Yes, the holding of the door has become an issue worthy of blogging, and any of you who venture out daily among these humans realize what I’m about to speak of.

I’m about 20 feet from Wawa’s outer doors.  There’s a guy coming out of the door who sees me.  Now he’s past the door, holding it open with one outstretched arm and hand, while the other one is occupied with a coffee, a bag and a soon to be lit cigarette.  My leisurely Sunday morning pace is no longer good enough for him.  So now I have to quicken my gait, even break into a slow trot as the door slips slowly but surely out of his fingertips.

What’s he’s telling me, without words, is that if I don’t hurry, it’s simply out of his hands.  There is a certain amount of time he can hold the door for me and that is that.  I feel like Batman in one of the old 1960’s episodes, tied down with Robin, waiting for the flame to melt the rope which will cause the vat of acid to drop on top of us.

My trot is not fast enough.  Now 5 feet from the door it slips from his fingers and quickly begins to close.  “Sorry” he yells, as he lights up and heads towards his car.  Now I’m faced with trying to grab the door just as it closes on my fingertips, or allow it to close fully and start the entire process from scratch.

Think we’re through?  Think again.  On other occasions we have the guy already at the door entering ahead of me.  This fine chap holds the door entirely open for me, allowing me to enter ahead of him.  But…we have the inside door to maneuver.  Now, in a display of courtesy, I am expected to hold that door fully open for him, as he passes through ahead of me.  Wait, exactly what was it that we accomplished here?  You were ahead of me to begin with and now you’re going inside first anyway?  What the &%#?!  See what I mean?

Okay, I’ve finished with my purchase and have the final challenge…get out of the store and into my car.  When you’re leaving, the doors push out, so not only do you have to be aware of the people coming in towards you, but you also have to have the head of an owl and know that people are behind you.  Because, if you push the door open, pass through, and allow it to close behind you, and it closes onto someone exiting behind you, you get the, “Nice manners” remark.  This from the husky woman eating her Cadbury coconut egg before she even is out of the store.

This door is probably closing at a pace slower that the winner of the Bob Fournier-Steven Backall-Louie Calabrese 40 yard dash, but no matter.  (For more information on those three names Google St. Donato’s “Slowest human ever” myths).

So, being the gentleman that I imagine I can one day be, I hold the door for Mrs. Cadbury.  And I’m waiting.  Waiting.  “Lady, stop looking at your receipt and counting your change, the clerk got it right!”

I’m almost out, just the outer door to get through.  As I’m passing through I see a guy coming towards the door.  A bit older, but moving at a decent pace.  I decide to hold the door open for him to take it from me as he nears.  But, he has no intention of taking hold of that door.  Instead of extending his arms they curl in, his hands like some sort of human T-Rex, and he passes through as I continue to hold the door open, like he’s Prince Charles.  As he passes, in my disgust, I can’t help but remark, “You know, you’re never gonna be king; you’re mother’s never gonna die”.  He looks back at me a bit puzzled, but shuffles in.

Then he’s immediately passed by someone coming out, and then another, all of whom seem very pleased that I’m holding the door open as the first official Wawa doorman.  All I’m missing is the wool coat and cap.

Today I’m starting a Go Fund Me account for every retail store to install the Star Trek sliding doors at the entrances of their businesses.  Let the door mechanism decide who gets in and out and when.  Until then, let’s all try and get in and out on our own, people.  It’s not that complicated.  Unless you’re in a wheel chair or the guy wheeling in 8 cases of Diet Coke, try and manage getting in and out on your own so we can all go on with our day.

And then try and make it out of the parking lot alive…